


Something Awful

by CrowKing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Long One Shot, One Shot, really long one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 08:16:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19001902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowKing/pseuds/CrowKing
Summary: I saw that your request were open so may I please request a Ramsay Bolton imagine where she is the true born daughter of Robert and Cersei and was married and in love with Robb but after the red wedding she fell in love with Ramsay and the two of them take the iron throne for themselves (it is perfectly okay if you wont/can't write this) thank you for your time and consideration I love your blog hope you have a good day





	Something Awful

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I actually have an entire series that is based on this request? For those of you who know Vicious, it’s similar to this request. However! This one-shot is going to take a very different turn. Enjoy!

You felt your heart breaking when you met Talisa. The muscles in your chest pulled apart string by string which made it all feel so much better to see her pregnant body on the ground bleeding. The last thing you saw inside the Twins was Robb crawling to the girl he loved more. Robb deserved his fate, you thought. 

Roose Bolton took you away from the whole thing. You were never meant to be at the Red Wedding, so when Roose saw your face he secretly told his men t not touch you. You were grateful to him while you both rode towards Winterfell.

“I am sorry to have put you through that. You were supposed to be with—

“I know,” you told Roose. You looked down and away from Roose. He bluntly gave you a reminder.

“You would never have been happy with the Young Wolf. He loved someone else much more than you. He already had his family planned with her. You deserve someone with much more loyalty and respect. Don’t cry over a dead man who would have been happy to see you gone.”

Lord Roose Bolton was right. As much as you wanted to follow his advice, it was difficult to harden your heart. Your brown eyes and black hair gave away that you were truly your father’s daughter. Robert told you stories of Lyanna Stark, and it reminded you of how you spoke of Robb Stark. 

You desired Robb more than anything. You remembered Sansa’s smile and how her eyes were filled with delight in wanting your brother. You supposed both of you felt differently now. You knew your mother to be a hateful woman towards everyone else except for you and your siblings. You never thought she would go as far as to destroy houses and families to not have you marry a Stark.

Winterfell was in ruins when you arrived. The direwolves were all smashed in. The Stark banners shared a similar fate as Robb; in the ground, covered in shame and almost forgotten. Roose had shared news of your safety with your mother, but you decided to stay north. You weren’t ready to go back home yet.

You didn’t want to face your hateful mother who took Robb away from you. You couldn’t possibly face Sansa who was to be your sister. You figured that what you had with her was now gone. You wouldn’t be surprised if she wished you dead.

You mostly kept to yourself at Winterfell for the first week. Most servants cursed you, and other Northerners had plans to hurt you. Roose had noted that and called you to a meeting to discuss your security here at Winterfell. With power and money and a new lordship in his pocket, Roose had set his sights on a new goal: the Iron Throne.

Keeping you, the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, safe and sound and happy in his home was in his best interest.

“I’m sure you are aware of the several people who have made threats to you,” Roose explained in front of his other men and you. You sat with your hands folded at a table of men who have betrayed House Stark. A fire crackled behind you.

“I’m aware. I believe my last chambermaid tried to poison me,” you confessed. “It may be time for to return home.”

“I would advise you against that,” Roose said. A map of Westeros sat in front of you. Roose pointed towards the Twins. “The knights of the Vale have boldly positioned themselves near the Twins. It wouldn’t be safe for you to return now with the Riverlands and the North this tense. If I can guarantee your safety here, would you like to stay longer?”

“Guarantee my safety? How?” you laughed at the Lord. It was impossible. You were a lion alone with direwolves and those loyal to them. Even if you attempted to go outside the walls of Winterfell, you were scared of any man or woman who saw your birthmark. Well, at least that’s what Cersei told you. 

A large burn mark on your face reminded you how awful your father was. King Robert, the one who liberated the Seven Kingdoms, put your face near a fire as a babe because you were a girl. Cersei couldn’t face him much after that. How could a King hurt his daughter like that? What kind of man was that? Still, no one could know that the King hurt his daughter. Not after he took the throne from the Mad King.

The burn mark went from the corner of your mouth and stretched itself across your left cheek. Joffery always teased you about it. He claimed you and the Hound would make a lovely couple together. He also claimed you would never find any real love unless it was inside a brothel. Of course, you never really searched for any kind of love. You always thought Robb Stark would be your husband.

That is, until you saw Talisa.

Until you saw the way Robb looked at her.

Until you saw Robb crawling on the floor towards her, reaching her. Even in death, he still did not want you.

You could mourn over dead men and their dead lovers or you study at the young man in front of you. He had dark curls, hungry eyes, and a mouth that smiled at you like you were made of gold. His hands were folded in front of him. His emblem was the Bolton cross. Not one thing about him looked off to you.

“This is my bastard son,” Roose introduced you. “Ramsay took Winterfell from the Greyjoys and saw that their rebellion was paid their own blood. I trust him to protect you at all costs.” Ramsay took your hand and kissed the top of it. His hand pulled you up to his level.

“I never thought I would ever protect a future queen, much less meet one,” Ramsay told you. You felt color rush to your cheeks and you couldn’t meet his eyes much longer. Not many men gave you affectionate attention. Cersei would never leave you with a man alone for long, so you didn’t have much experience. 

Now, you were going to spend a lot of time with a bastard named Ramsay.

 

“Who is your mother?” you asked the bastard one day. He sat next to you eating another apple. He used his flaying knife to cut off bit by bit.

“She was a miller’s wife.”

“Did your father—

“No,” Ramsay cut you off. “He didn’t love her. He had his way with her while her new husband hung above them. Did you parents love each other?” 

“No, they did not. I hoped things were different up here,” you confessed to him. “According to you, things are more of the same. Maybe worse.”

“Worse? I am to be Lord and Warden of the North one day. You are to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t see much drawback from this.” A guard came into the room before you could go further in the conversation.

“We found another one,” he said. “Caught ‘im trying to send a letter out.”

“Well, what does the letter say?” Ramsay narrowed his eyes. 

“Says where she sleeps. How to get past the guards.” Ramsay stopped the guard with his hand. He heard enough. He left his spot next to you by the fire.

“Milady, I expect this threat will take some time to take care of. I’m afraid I won’t see you until tomorrow.”  
You cocked and eyebrow. “Why does it matter if I won’t see you until tomorrow?”

Ramsay started to close the door behind him. “I was starting to like you. Don’t ruin it with silly questions.”

\---

 

Ramsay had slain anyone who plotted to hurt you. He had displayed their skins and corpses and parts in the courtyard of Winterfell to remind everyone who House Bolton should be loyal to. Ramsay stood next to you spinning a yarn about the unfortunate soul in front of you. You felt something turning in your stomach.

It could the gruesome sight in front of you. The young woman’s toes were caked in her own blood. Her mouth was agape, and you could see bugs enter and exit her mouth. As if the small critters used her body for warmth and food. 

Or it could be Ramsay. As handsome as he was, he was also terribly something awful. His smile when describing how she held strong until the end. He loved what he did to people. He was good at it. Still, something turned your stomach.

“Milady!” The maester came rushing to you. “There’s something you need to see.” His frown and worry concerned you. You followed the maester with Ramsay right behind you. Ramsay followed you wherever you went not because he felt obligated to, but he enjoyed your companionship.

Every morning, you helped take the hounds out for walks. Ramsay and you would share meals together. More recently, your new favorite hobby was mending Ramsay’s clothes. He liked the flaying man you embroidered for him. 

The maester handed you the letter from King’s Landing. It was written in your mother’s hand. You read the words, but you couldn’t register them. It wasn’t real. You felt too much all at once. You did the improper thing and started to cry and curse out loud.

“Fuck! Fuck! No, this isn’t—I—No! Fuck this!”

“What? What is it?” Ramsay grabbed the letter from you. He read the words. “Your brother was poisoned by his enemies. The King is dead. Come home.”

\---

You sat in your room alone. It had been a week since your King Brother was laid to rest in the Sept. Myrcella was in Dorne. You were in the North. Your youngest brother held the crown now. You knew gentle, loving Tommen. His grave was already dug. You needed to go home.

You spun a yarn in between your fingers, trying to focus on something, anything. The world around you became a blur of noise and shapes. You didn’t understand how this happened. All you knew was you wanted to destroy who did this to your family. Who put Myrcella in Dorne? Who married Sansa? Who wanted your brother dead?  
“You need to eat,” you heard behind you. 

“I’m not hungry,” you answered back watching Ramsay roll his eyes. He pulled up a chair next to you.

“You mourn them too much,” Ramsay picked at the bread on your tray. “You want to cry and cry and cry. Go on. The world won’t stop for you.”

“That’s mean. My brother just died.”

“And you’re going to sit here and cry about it?”

“What else can I do?” you cried out in frustration. Ramsay laughed at you.

“You are the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and you believe there’s nothing you can do?” Ramsay shook his head at you. “Do I what I would do.”

“I don’t torture people.”

“No, but you can end them. You could end them all,” Ramsay put the idea in your head. “You told me your uncle did it. So, let’s kill him.”

“He’s being put to trial first. We have processes. It’s only fair.”

“Fair? You want to be fair with a man who has hurt your family more than once? Tyrion has been a stain in your family line since the day he crawled out of your grandmother’s stomach. You know that.”

“With what resources then? I don’t have spies to do this work for me. I know no assassins. My family is a month’s ride away from me. Do you expect me to kill my uncle myself?”

Ramsay shook his head and left the comfort of his seat. He offered you his hand and guided you to a window. 

“Look outside. What do you see?”

You did not like this game. You sighed and played along for him. “Snow. Land. Peasants.”

“The North,” Ramsay corrected you. “Five hundred miles that way, you’re still in the North. Another four hundred miles another way and you’re still in the North.”

“Your point?”

“This all belongs to me, but mostly it belongs to you, would you agree?” Ramsay placed his hands on your arms. They slid up to your shoulders. 

“I agree. I still don’t see your point.”

“My father has proved his loyalty to your grandfather with what he accomplished at the Red Wedding. Tywin and Joffery made him a lord. Because of your grandfather, I have power, money, and land. I wonder, if I kill your enemies and hurt those who have hurt you, what will you make me?” Ramsay whispered the words into your ear. 

You didn’t need spies. You didn’t need the same resources they had in King’s Landing. You had Ramsay Bolton, the flaying bastard.

\---

Ramsay and you arrived in King’s Landing in complete secret. Ramsay didn’t bring an army with him, only twenty good men. You roamed the empty, abandoned brothels that Petyr Baelish left behind. You heard Ramsay exchange words with one of your mother’s spies. He left in haste, leaving you and Ramsay alone.

“Your mother knows you’re here. Along with someone named the Spider?” Ramsay asked, pulling at his shirt. You studied the young man. You noted the sweat on his brow.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying the warmer weather,” you smiled.

“I hate it. Why is it so hot? Isn’t it supposed to be nearing winter? This is ridiculous.” He looked around in disgust. His face made you giggle. Ramsay shot a look at you. “What?”

“You’re so miserable about the weather. It’s funny.” You smiled at him. You watched color rush to his face. 

“I’m not funny.” He responded, turning away from you. You grabbed his arm and rested your head on his shoulder. Ramsay often let you do this, but you were never sure why. You’ve known Ramsay to have his girls. He slept with some on the way here, yet all of them had dark, long hair like yours. No, you were being silly. You were awful to look at. Your burn mark made sure of that. 

Still, the tension between you was noted whenever a man looked at you wrong or when your fingers touched his sleeve. You wanted to say something was there. You wanted to ask, but your brother’s cruel words echoed in your mind.

“No one could ever stomach to look at that face every morning. The only love you’ll ever find will be in a dark brothel.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you. It wasn’t my intent. I was only teasing,” you said quietly between both of you. Ramsay placed a soft kiss on your head. 

“I know, sweetling. We have to leave here. I don’t think your mother would want to find her daughter in a brothel with a bastard.”

\---

Tywin welcomed you back to King’s Landing with open arms. He was more than delighted to see one of his granddaughters. You would claim your grandfather to dote on you, but he was a disciplined, conservative man. He noted how close Ramsay Bolton and you became.

“What happened in the North?” Tywin asked you. 

“What do you mean?” you sat drinking wine with your grandfather. You finally wore your favorite summer dresses. It was a purple dress embellished with gold details. Golden flowers, golden stags, golden lions all delicately decorated your new gown. It felt light and pretty, nothing like the heavy layers you had to wear in the North.

“You experienced what happened at the Twins and you chose to stay in the North, why?” Tywin always questioned you like was trying to teach you another lesson.

“I was promised over and over to a young wolf. In one night, he was taken away from me by my family. The same family who told me I would be marrying him. Don’t you think a little distrust would form after that?”

“You don’t trust your family?”

“I needed time. The Boltons have been incredible hosts to me, and they reminded me why the Starks are traitors.”

“Roose Bolton reminded you? Or did his son remind you?”

“If you’re implying something, I suggest you get to the point,” you said in a cross manner. Tywin blinked and smiled.

“If you were a boy, you would have made a better king than your brother.”

“And I can’t be a queen? I’m in line for throne. Remember?” you said to Tywin. Tywin cleared his throat. His eyes followed a figure that entered the room. The first thing you saw were the rich red sleeves and collar. You suspected they hid armor underneath. The next thing you saw was a black tunic with the flaying man sewn into the fabric. A black belt held it together along with his sword and two daggers. 

“Am I interrupting?” Ramsay spoke to Tywin. Tywin shook his head.

“Not at all. Is the South treating you better?”

Ramsay narrowed his eyes. “Why do all of you waste time with your small talk?” You quickly stood up from your seat and walked over to Ramsay.

“Forgive him, grandfather,” you smiled. “He wasn’t raised in castles like you and me. He doesn’t know how to be a lord.”

“Because he’s a legitimized bastard. There seems to be a lot of you in the North.” Ramsay’s hand went to his dagger, but you held onto his hand. You guided him away from murdering Tywin and towards the gardens.

“Do not anger my grandfather unless you wish to die,” you warned him.

“Tywin is as weak as his age. I doubt he could hurt me. Tyrion is in the dungeons. I plan to kill him tonight,” Ramsay said.

“Tonight? So soon? Don’t you think we need to wait and pla—

“There’s already a plan. I told you, I only need twenty good men. Do you want your uncle Tyrion to face justice or do you want him to escape?”

“Escape? What are yo—

“Your mother told me her whispers. The Spider has plans to help Tyrion escape justice tonight.”

“No, Tyrion will be put to the sword. There was a trial by combat. He dies tomorrow.” You assured him.

“No, he dies tonight. If you don’t let me do things my way, that throne will never belong to you.” Ramsay pulled you away from the public eye of the gardens. Behind tall bushes, Ramsay grabbed your hand again. “Must I remind you why I followed you here?”

“For the throne? You want power.” You said. 

“As true as that sounds, I’m not an idiot. I was never raised in a castle. You were.”

‘Is this another game?” you asked. Ramsay pulled you closer to him.

“No, this is a reminder,” Ramsay brushed away the hair in front of your burn mark. He place his lips on yours and sent you into a trance. You didn’t realize your first kiss would be so wonderful. Ramsay wrapped his arms around you and deepened the kiss. You broke it apart when you felt dizzy in his arms.

“Ram—

“I never thought I would care for a southern girl, yet here I am. Our place is here. I’ll kill every single one of your family that betrays us to get you on that throne.” Ramsay kissed you once more. Leaving you almost breathless and filled with silly thoughts again.

Late in the night, you heard the bells go off. Those were alarm bells. You rushed to your door and locked it. It wasn’t much, but you had hoped you would be safe there. You waited and waited until you heard three sharp knocks. 

Ramsay.

You opened the door slightly to see the roughed up young lord with a monstrous smile on his face. Five of his men were behind him now. Each of them were a bit bloodied up, but Ramsay had a lovely sword cut on his face. The blood dripped down his cheek.

“My lady, I have some wonderful news to share.”

\---

Ramsay and his men had slaughtered Tyrion who attempted to escape his fate. Tyrion’s mistake was murdering his own whore lover and Tywin. Ramsay was revered as a hero by your younger brother, King Tommen. Ramsay stood before his king, smiling as Tommen stroked his ego.

“You have done Westeros a favor. You and your family have served the realm well. Whatever you ask that is in my power, it is yours,” Tommen smiled to Ramsay. Nearly everyone inside the court that day wore black. Ramsay’s black outfit was outfitted with gold and red details. Your family’s colors and his. 

“You honor me, my King. I come to you as a young lord. I come to you humble and grateful, but if I were to ask for one thing,” Ramsay glanced at you for a moment and then met the King’s eyes. “I would ask you for your sister’s hand. I’ve grown quite fond of her. I’d like to make her mine.”

You smiled from ear to ear. You guessed your late brother was right. You did find love in a brothel.

\---

While Tommen tried to be a pure king, you had already consummated with Ramsay several times before your own wedding night. Ramsay’s favorite part of you was your neck and your chest. He left his own marks all over you, so that your mother would know that you belonged to him now.

“You’re covering them up, aren’t you?” Cersei said. “His little love marks.”

“How did you kn—

“Have you forgotten that I know everything?” Cersei smiled at you. You’ve always felt your mother’s warmth. That never changed. She pushed your hair back to see both your burn mark and the marks Ramsay left on you. “I was once your age too. I hid mine better. Try wearing your hair down more.”

“You’re not angry with me?” you asked her. 

“No,” Cersei took your hand and lead you with it. The day had begun to cool. You kept your mother close to you. She continued. “I’m not angry with you. I want you to be happy. Are you happy with him?”

“Yes,” you confessed. “I am. He makes me happy.”

“Good,” Cersei held you close. “But the minute he doesn’t make you happy anymore, tell me. And he will be ashes before you could shed a tear. Do you understand?” As you nodded towards your mother, a guard burst into your private moment. The Mountain glared at him with his bright red eyes.

“My queen, my lady,” the guard greeted. “The Sparrows have invaded the Red Keep. We need to get you to safety now.” Locked away in Cersei’s room, both you and she were protected by the Mountain. You heard yelling and fighting on the other side of Cersei’s door. You sucked in all of your breath and held onto her before you heard a familiar voice enter the room.

“Those religious fuckers,” Ramsay laughed. You eyed his armored body and cut arms. “Does your son take criticism? Or do I need to convince him how bad this is?” 

\---

You did not need to convince Tommen. He stood there raging, fuming mad at the poor figure of his mother. How little she was. How hurt she was. Tommen no longer hid, he roared.

You see, you only knew Joffery and yourself to have a temper. Myrcella and Tommen both were entirely too gentle to hurt anyone or anything. When Tommen saw the condition of Cersei when she returned from her walk of shame, he looked at your betrothed, Ramsay Bolton, and spoke to him.

“How many men do you need? How many to take down the Sparrows?” 

You wished your king’s rage continued. You hoped Tommen would see how terrible the Sparrows were. Once you saw both Queen Margaery and King Tommen join hands with the High Sparrow, you knew it was over.

\---

You clearly remembered that morning. You wore all black just like your mother and your betrothed. Chains hung from Ramsay’s chest and arms. A brand new, obsidian sword was his to touch. You wore your hair down, not to hide Ramsay’s love marks, but to hide the bruise on your neck. Something you earned last night when you challenged your lover to hurt you.

Ramsay’s fingers brushed against yours. You both quietly held hands and watched the sept. Everything had been so quiet. You didn’t realize how quiet King’s Landing could be until you heard the explosion. A bright green colored your vision as smoke filled the air. It was astonishing and awful. Your mother had managed to defeat both threats at once. The Sparrows and Tyrell House were gone. 

Ramsay wore the biggest smile on his face. He looked on the spectacle in awe. If your mother could do that, what kind of damage could you do? He started to get ideas in his head. How could he get away with killing the king? How far would he go to put you on the throne? How far could he go to put himself there?

Being a king meant that you had access to power like this. You could do whatever you wanted. Ramsay found himself daydreaming of both of you on the throne. He sat on the iron throne while you stood by, holding a small bundle. Now, he wanted it. He was so close.

Ramsay didn’t realize how easy it was.

You were frozen to the spot when Qyburn came to tell you the news. Cersei had followed Qyburn to his lab while you stood there trying to digest what you had heard.

“Tommen killed himself.” You said quietly. “After everything my family has been through. Joffery was murdered at his wedding. Myrcella was cold before she touched land again, and now Tommen kills himself?” You felt the anger warp you into something awful. 

“Y/N. Sweetling,” Ramsay called out to you. He snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Focus.”

“My family is dying around me,” the words came out cold. They cut Ramsay’s face and he delivered the same cold truth to you.

“I told you. You spend too much time mourning the dead. Do you realize who you are now? Who we are? What power we have together?” Ramsay kissed you and you felt the world melt away again. Before you could deepen the kiss, he broke apart from you.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. Ramsay held your face in his hands. 

“Nothing,” he shook his head. For the first time, you saw his genuine happiness. His face softened and gazed down at you with something more than what your mother gave you. His fingers combed through your hair. He saw nothing else in the world but you. “This world is ours. Yours and mine.”

\---

Your coronation was held only hours after the incident. Ramsay watched you walk in complete awe. You had never looked more beautiful in your life. A crown of stag antlers was placed on your head. The Seven Kingdoms was now yours to have and control. You looked sad for the occasion, but when you were alone with the man who helped put you there you smiled.

“My king,” you teased him. Ramsay kissed you deeply once more. 

“My queen,” he tenderly said back. The pair of you walked together to a small council meeting to discuss immediate issues. The Sept needed to be handled. Your brother’s funeral was to be planned. The people of the city needed to be addressed. 

When Ramsay’s lips touched yours in front of the people of Westeros, he became King Ramsay Bolton, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Both of you had everything you ever wanted now. A crown adorned his head like a halo. Ramsay felt like a god among his new subjects. 

While you rested inside taking in the new feeling of being so very much loved, Ramsay pulled Varys and Littlefinger aside. The small council chambers were empty with the exception of the three men. Everyone enjoyed the wedding estivates outside. Ramsay twirled his flaying knife between his fingers.

“Varys, Littlefinger,” King Ramsay began. “Tell me about this girl and her dragons across the sea.”


End file.
